I Knew Her So Well Now
by AnnaJayBelle
Summary: Scout has some questions about her mother but she's afraid to ask Atticus. She's afraid that its too much for him to talk about his dead wife. It turns out, he doesnt mind at all.


"Atticus?"

"Yes Scout?"

"Nothing." This reminded me of Jem's speechless self whenever Atticus had shot the mad dog. I didn't quite understand then why Jem was so soft spoken about it but now I understood what it felt to be at a loss for words. I hadn't found the right way to ask yet and I wasn't sure on whether I was even going to mention it or not. Jem looked at me with sorrow and pity in his eyes. I had been asking him questions lately about our Momma. He knew I wanted to question Atticus above all because he used to be her husband, he should know more about her than Jem.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My head was down as I forked and picked at my food with little interest. Atticus would ask me in a few minutes what was bothering me, but for now he simply watched me play with my dinner as he chewed his own slowly.

"Atticus?" I repeated, keeping my head down. But the moment I let the name leave my lips, I knew I still didn't have the courage to ask him what was on my mind.

"Yes?" He sounded more anxious this time and I had wondered if he thought I had bad news to deliver.

"What was Momma like? You don't have to tell me anything about her if you don't want to but I just want to know whatever your willing to tell. Jem has told me little things here and there about her and I seen your watch and how it says "to my beloved husband" and I realized that you would know more about her than Jem would, and I was afraid to ask you, and I thought you would be mad, and-and-"

"Jean Louise Finch-"

"See! Your angry Atticus, I'm sorry, I should've said nothing. I-I'm sorry-"

My voice cracked as I ran out of the dining room and into my room, shutting the door softly and hoping Atticus wouldn't yell. He had never seemed to find the need to yell at me before but now he had every right. I had asked a personal question about an unknown woman that I would never remember. How could I expect him to want to speak of my mother? It must have been hard on even Atticus to speak of his dead wife. My dead mother.

"Scout?" I heard a knock at the door and I tensed. I knew that voice all too well. It was the voice of my father. "May I come in?" I don't remember a time when Atticus would simply barge into my room without asking to enter. He respected my privacy and for that I respected his.

"Yes."

He came in and settled himself down beside me on the bed. We sat there for a moment in silence and it felt odd because on a usual night, I would crawl into his lap and rest my head under his and drift off as he read to me. He had always told me that I was starting to get too old for that. However, seven years old did not seem like a high number and so I would always proceed to sit in his lap. Tonight was not one of those nights. I simply sat beside him in silence.

He sighed, "Scout, please. Talk to me." This time _he_ was the one to lift me into his lap and snuggle me close. This was a first that he had been the one to take me and I not to crawl into his. "I know that I'm not the perfect parent, I know this. I try my best with you and now with your Aunt moved out…" I thought back to the day that my Aunty had said something to my father too low for me and Jem to hear. It had went over Atticus's temper and he had ordered her out of the house without a second thought. "…that does not excuse my lack of knowledge of what is bothering you. I know you better than anyone else and I should've seen that you would have wanted to know…" He drifted off and I was assuming that he was waiting for me to continue but I remained silent in his arms. "Scout, I am begging you." This day was getting more odd as it went. I never heard Atticus use the word "beg" before. He had once told me that a man was only to beg when in the most severe situations. This must have been more severe than I realized.

"I just want to know about her. What she looked like, smelled like, was she nice? Do I look like her? Was she pretty? Did you love her a lot? Did she love me a lot?" The questions that had been bottled up in my own mind were now pouring from my mouth.

"I will answer any question that you have," My father's voice seemed to have a cheerful tone to it. "What did she look like? She had light brown hair with beautiful, big green eyes. She was absolutely pretty, though "pretty" did her no justice. She was breathtakingly marvelous. Did I love her? You have no idea of the love I felt for her Scout. She was my life, and I loved her more than anything else in the world. She was the most caring and loving person that I had ever met but very adventurous." This word caught my attention and I looked up. "She was stubborn and hard headed. She said what was on her mind whether it was silly or not. She stood out from the crowd because she wasn't the type of woman to sit at home and sew, she could get dirt on her hands and think little of it. She loved you so much Scout, we were so happy when you were born. She not only gave me a son but she gave me a daughter and I will forever thank her for that in my prayers." This touched me the most because not only did I make my mother happy by simply being born, but I also made my father happy. "She was intelligent, more intelligent than anyone but me knew."

"I'm like her…" I breathed. This amazed me to realize that I was more like my deceased mother than I thought.

"More than you know. Your all I've got left of her."

"Why is it so easy for you to talk about her?" I asked curiously, looking up to my father who was smiling from ear to ear. I hadn't seen him smile that wide since I can remember.

"Scout, I've never _not_ wanted to talk about her. I could sit here for hours upon hours and speak of your mother." This struck me angry when I realized how very little was spoken of her in the house.

"Then why don't you ever speak of her?"

"Its hard for Jem. She was his mother too and remembers her. Its hard for him to let her go if I'm always speaking of her, is it not?" This made sense to me. "Now, when we read tonight, I will tell you whatever you like about her and whatever questions that you have, I will answer." That sounded like a perfect plan and I confirmed it.

He led me back to the dining room, hand in hand, and although this was just another dinner on another night…it was special because it felt like I was having dinner with my mother herself.

I knew her so much better now.


End file.
